


Revival

by sofielix



Category: La Divina Commedia | The Divine Comedy - Dante Alighieri
Genre: All characters are dead, Alternate Universe - Animals, Ambiguous/Open Ending, How Do I Tag, M/M, Out of Character, Virgil is a bee
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:47:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27740251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sofielix/pseuds/sofielix
Summary: An au where Virgil is a bee, and Dante revives a corpse Virgil accidentally left behind.
Relationships: Dante/Virgil (La Divina Commedia), Durante degli Alighieri | Dante Alighieri/Publius Vergilius Maro | Virgil
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	Revival

**Author's Note:**

> I'm no good at making up titles(or at almost EVERYTHING). But I'm craving for some fics, so...  
> Chapter 1 is a (made/stuck-up) note of Dante's.  
> Oml Im so idiotic. Covers face with cloth and runs away before somebody sees me...

Under the strong urge to sin beyond the boundaries of the omniscient I gave in, and, suppressing the shame, carefully I stripped Vergil of his bounds.  
Seeing his gaining freedom as the fruit of my work I aroused, and having the burning sensation lead me into irrationality, I undid my clothing. Upon taking his cock into my hands, fervently I wished, for once and all, that I shall gain knowledge from within the depths of his knowledge, and unto him I penetrate. Upon my movement, he cried out with our shared sentiment, and Jove! He was the true saint among us two.  
There were times we had to part… for the greater good, as he puts it. He was restless in the very core of his soul, like his beloved bees which work day and night, born without the need for rest.  
To relieve the pain of his departure I allow my train of thought pass for many a time through his majestic figure, on how he’d have his sweet lips on my skin, softly thrumming into me the rhythm of our homeland. Then there was the time when I could hold no more—I dreamt of holding his hands into mine, to feel his dainty fingers through my own, and to have it wrapped around me. Time was hard then, but no more than it was now, to be cast into the depths of hell itself.  
As I went, I held on with me the memory of his tender strokes, and through Limbo I descend, seeking to no avail the shade of my master, till towards the depths of infernal darkness I fell. In there the son of morning waited, from him, I saw hope, and from light himself I silently count the centuries of torture I shall endure.  
The loss of love, to one untrue even, was too harsh even to the most cold-blooded creature—had I been more relying on the fragments, or had I lost my willpower through the agony, I should have lost myself already—hence I planted a laurel branch, one that bore flowers with the sweetest fragrance, and with the flowers came the luscious fruit I took.  
Have I never been fortunate enough to have journeyed through hell and purgatory, to have met my sweet guide, I shall never need to worry about when we shall meet again, or if it was till doomsday shall we reunite—somewhere in Limbo he dwelled, unbeknownst to his figure I had once created, and for that, I shall be grateful towards the merciful God, until I meet my doom in the depths, beyond the doomed gates of Hell, from where I listened to the weeping from the valley of tears, the mourning of men, of those exiled and banished, then for myself did I start, to count the forty years of one’s own.


End file.
